The economic machinations of the art world are often obscured, even if they remain largely traceable through commercial galleries, fairs, auction houses, cultural foundations, contemporary art institutions, public museums, educational platforms, and the like.

An image of a downed U.S. F-35 jet—wings destroyed, afterburner still glowing—starts to trend.

Every intellectual in exile is mutilated, wrote Theodor W. Adorno in California during World War II.

Among the various types of anthropogenic clouds, mushroom clouds that form in the sky after atomic bomb explosions are arguably the most spectacular.

Words for different flavors of trans people come and go, gathering different assortments of us together and drawing different lines between us.

Here the main question is not what is said but why it is said. And this question of why is not related to the personal situation, interests, or discursive strategies of the speakers. Men cannot know what is good for them; they very often profess ideologies that are directly detrimental to their interests.

We know how the first paragraph begins. We’ve read about the changing climate for over twenty years, infrequently at first and then daily until we couldn’t deny it any longer. The world is burning.

Universalism is not an innocent concept. In “The Grandeur and Twilight of Radical Universalism,” published shortly after the fall of historical communism, Ágnes Heller and Ferenc Fehér, former Marxist philosophers and disciples of Georg Lukács, accused Marx and his followers of turning the Hegelian concept of universalism into a philosophy of praxis, a “predictive and action-orienting device” applied to change the world.